Hopelessly Addicted

I'm not a bad guy.  I prefer to think of myself as a good guy who has fallen into some, shall we say, unfortunate habits.  It all seemed so innocent when I started.  I mean, every one of my friends did it and it didn't affect them.  Why should I be any different?  Ha!  Little did I know.  Now I am trapped, looking desperately for a way out, but I haven't the strength.

I remember the first time.  My friend and I were alone in her house.  She pulled it out of her purse and offered me some.  It was almost comic in retrospect.  I jumped, ashamed that my friend was a part of all that I had, until then, despised.  I demurred, knowing that I was right not to participate in this.  She pushed, "C'mon, it won't hurt just once."  I blinked away tears of confusion, refusing her once again.  My whole image of her was shattered.  She wasn't the strong person I had pictured her to be.  She assumed a stern, hurt, look… "Hey," she snapped, "I'm your best friend.  I wouldn't ever do anything to hurt you, would I?"

I mutely shook my head, wrapping my arms around my body to still its incessant quivering.  She opened my hand and placed it in my palm, "Just once, okay?"  She smiled reassuringly and urged me on.  The tears were running freely across my cheeks by this time.  I didn't want to do it, but I had to.  I couldn't lose my best friend over this.  What is a person without friends?  I steeled myself and participated in the shameful act.

It was downhill from that point on.  Soon, I was helplessly addicted.  My girlfriend and I would do it as many as nine times a day.  All out money went towards supporting our habit.  I didn't even realize what I was doing to myself.  One day, though, I took a good look at myself.  I stood nude in front of the mirror.

A cry of sheer horror escaped my lips.  What had happened?  I used to be svelte!  My habit was destroying my body.  I wasn't what I once was.  There was limp flesh hanging from my arms and dark bags under my eyes.  That wasn't me.  I picked up a shoe and hurled it through the mirror.

Soon, others began to notice the change.  It wasn't only my body, but my attitude.  Nothing mattered anymore but my habit.  I was kicked out of class for bringing it with me.  My girlfriend, thank God, stood by and loved me despite my addiction.  I lost my job because I brought it with me there also, and I had the gall to do it in front of a customer.  My parents put me in for treatment.  Too little, too late.  I was too far gone by then.  The first step in breaking the addiction is wanting to stop.  I didn't want to stop.  I needed it, more than anything.  Needless to say, the treatment failed and I flunked out with flying colors.  I just didn't have the strength to help myself.

Now, I'm resigned to my fate.  I'm an addict and I know it.  I just can't do anything about it.  Even now, as I write this, I've got my bag of chocolate chip cookies sitting next to me.  It's a love-hate relationship.  I hate cookies more than anything, but I love them nonetheless.  I must have them.  Maybe, just maybe, I might someday find the strength and break my addiction to chocolate chip cookies.  Wishful thinking.  Chocolate chip cookies are the worst.  Once they have you, they never let go.  I'm stuck.